Getting Hit On :: What Does Real Love Look Like?

It’s been a long time, but I do remember what it feels like to be single.  I remember being overly concerned with my appearance at all times.  I remember being on the lookout for attractive girls without rocks on their fingers.  I remember what it felt like to be hit on.

At least, I thought I did.

Truth be told, I think being married, being 30, and being completely disassociated with the dating scene makes you forget some things; I forgot completely, I think.

This Saturday, the day before Valentine’s Day, I was out at the mall doing a routine spinal screening for work.  It was early in the morning and we were setting up the booth when a couple girls (mid to late 20′s) walked by and saw the sign that read “Free 5 Minute Massage With Each Spinal Screening.”  The reply that followed left me a bit red in the face.

“So, are you the one doing the massage?” I was asked.

“No.”  I laughed it off and continued, “Our masseuse will be here in a little while.”

“Can I pay extra to get you?” the girl flirtatiously replied.

“Nah.”  was my witty come-back as they went on, giggling a bit at their frankness, I suppose.  Meanwhile, I was left standing there with a face as red as a tomato, a bit speechless.  I just got hit on I thought to myself.  I made a few comments to my boss and to a friend who was there witnessing the whole thing and then carried on with my job.  I was really eager to tell Tricia, though.  I’ve still got it!

And when I told her, we laughed about it and I didn’t give it another thought until Sunday morning.  We were sitting in church and Tricia noticed some sort of crud on my pants.  After pointing it out, inquiring as to it’s origin, and snickering a bit, I began to scratch at the mystery substance.  Unable to fully pry it from my pants, I simply gave up and figured it would come out in the wash.  We both just shook our heads at the fact that I’m basically 12 years old sometimes.  No joke, I am.

And then I started thinking about my wife.  I started considering how much I love her for who she is and all that she brings to my life, but I also love her for what she doesn’t bring:  condemnation.  I don’t have to worry that when I don’t live up to the image she had of me the night of our first date that she’s going to be disappointed or angry.  She’s not going to judge me when I’m just a nasty and disgusting man.  She’s not going to leave because I have a stain on my pants that was still lingering due to the fact that I didn’t get my pants in the wash after their last wearing.

That’s not to say that I don’t still try to impress her.  It’s not to say that I don’t try to keep her excited about the fact that she married me.  It’s just to say that I don’t have to freak out about keeping a facade up all the time to make her happy.  She loves me exactly as I am.  She wants the best for me, but loves me the entire time I’m trying to find that; no matter where or what, she’s there for me.

And that made me think about my little run-in at the mall.  Sure, I was flattered that someone would make such an advance based simply on my looks.  Why wouldn’t I be?  But it only stood to make me realize that outer flattery and surface attraction is so temporary.  It’s so deceptive.  It’s almost fake.  I began wondering what that girl would say if she saw the real me; if she saw the awkward, tech-nerd with chocolate on his pants, would she have said a word?  I’m pretty sure the answer is no, and that is such a wonderful thing.

Because the girl who saw all that goofiness and brokenness said yes.  Yes to me and everything I come along with.

That’s love.  That’s worth everything.

As always, I’d love to hear from you below!

Related posts:

1. The Best Valentine’s Gift Ever :: Your Life Laid Down